


18. Cookies

by greywolfheir



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cookies, M/M, snickerdoodles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywolfheir/pseuds/greywolfheir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John teaches Sherlock how to properly make cookies</p>
            </blockquote>





	18. Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I’m like 99% sure that Sherlock’s explanation of the origin of the gingerbread man is false but I thought it was interesting and such a Sherlock-y explanation to something that’s supposed to be cute so I put it in here. Let’s just pretend this is a different world where the story actually exists

_Continuation of[Gingerbread](1091533)_

Sherlock was pouting on the armchair, which honestly wasn’t anything new. John’s problem was that he was trying to get Sherlock to do something. Actually, even that happened all the time. The most frustrating predicament was that Sherlock was already doing the thing John wanted him to do not ten minutes ago…until he burnt the cookies.

“The gingerbread man originated in Rome, during Saturnalia. Did you know that?” Sherlock said.

“Mmm lovely, now can we—“

“During that week, there was no police force,” Sherlock continued. “And they would pick one man who got whatever he wanted—gold, women, food—for the entire week.”

“Fantastic—“

“And at the end of the week, they would kill that man and sacrifice him to the god Saturn. The gingerbread man represents that man, John. The sacrifice of one man in order that Saturn may devour him.”

“That’s what it _used_ to mean,” John said. “And now it represents nice gifts for friends, and _learning_ how to make them properly.”

“I did make them properly. They burned,” Sherlock snapped.

“Well then it’s good I’m going to teach you something new. And I’ll be here so they won’t burn if you get distracted.”

“Something new?” Sherlock asked with renewed interest.

 “Something easier than gingerbread men,” John said with a nod.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“No use telling you if you aren’t going to make them anyway, is there?” John said.

Sherlock glared at John.

John’s gaze remained steadily on Sherlock.

Sherlock gave up, jumping up from the chair huffily. “Fine. What is it?”

“Snicker doodles,” John said.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, covered in more dough and other various ingredients than is reasonable for the sort of recipe as easy as the one John had used, the boys collapsed on the sofa.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Oh, I can make a decent batch of cookies, you’re rubbish at it, it was bound to happen,” John said.

“It’s not as if baking is a very useful task,” Sherlock murmured.

“You tried to do it, didn’t you?” John asked with a grin. Then his expression softened. “Why _were_ you making me cookies? And on your own—why not ask Mrs. Hudson?”

“I…wanted it to be personal,” Sherlock said, looking away.

“Yeah, but… _you_? Personal?” John asked. “I’m used to getting something you stole from a criminal thrown at me with the barest of a ‘Happy Christmas’.”

Sherlock looked up with hurt, then a sort of pleading look that clearly said, _please drop this_. John hoped his expression was reading as a very clear, _like hell._

Sherlock sighed. “I was trying to…express my affections.”

“What sort of affections?” John would have been grinning if he weren’t so nervous about what this was leading to.

Sherlock huffed. “I was trying to express my romantic feelings towards you, John.”

John was caught off-guard. He was expecting something, but not so abruptly. “Oh.”

“I realize you probably don’t return them. In fact, I’m quite sure you don’t, but I thought—“

“Sherlock,” John breathed. That certainly got the detective’s attention. He lifted his head to meet eyes with John. The doctor put his hand on top of Sherlock’s. “In all my years of knowing you, I’ve never heard you get something so completely wrong.”

“You...but I was sure—that doesn’t—“ Sherlock was cut off again when John’s other hand touched his cheek to force the detective to look him in the eyes.

“This is strange, you been wrong and speechless,” John said with a laugh.

Sherlock opened his mouth again, but then John was there, kissing it. John felt Sherlock tense for a good minute, but he’d figured it would take a while for Sherlock to respond. The minute stretched longer than expected, though, and John started to pull back when, finally, Sherlock returned the kiss.

The detective turned his hand over so they could intertwine their fingers and he leaned forward until John was pushed up against the arm of the sofa. Then, supposedly out of embarrassment, Sherlock pulled back and sat up straight again.

“Sorry. Too much?” Sherlock asked.

“Normally, yes,” John laughed. He grabbed Sherlock’s lapels, though, and added, “But I think an exception is in order.”

John pulled Sherlock back down. His mind was entertaining so many possibilities, but that all stopped when a burning smell reached his nose. John didn’t notice it at first, but after a while it became strong enough that John couldn’t ignore it. Then something clicked in his head.

John shoved Sherlock off of him and ran to the oven, where, yes, the cookies were burning. John let out a frustrated growl. He grabbed an oven mitt and took the cookies out before they could catch fire like Sherlock’s gingerbread cookies. “Well, we burned these too.”

Suddenly, there was a heat at John’s back and then Sherlock was nuzzling his neck, arms around John’s waist. “Worth it, though, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.” John grinned and turned around in Sherlock’s arms. He put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder to steady himself, then stretched up in attempt to kiss Sherlock again. Just as their lips were going to connect, though, the door to the flat opened and both jumped like they’d been electrocuted.

“Hello there boys,” Mrs. Hudson called from the doorway, headed toward the kitchen. She came in carrying a tinfoil-wrapped plate. She didn’t even blink when she saw the two of them in a compromising position. After all, she’d assumed they were a couple years ago. “I brought cookies.”

It took John a second to really register what she said. When the irony truly sunk in, he burst into laughter.

“Mrs. Hudson, you’re a godsend.” 


End file.
